Where in hell are we?!
Sakura staggered forward, lungs seizing like she'd inhaled fire, her heart pounding loud enough to deafen thought. The ground beneath her boots was cracked and glowing faint red, like something straight out of a nightmare.
"Ren?" She gasped, spinning around. "REN?! WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Shit. What the hell is happening?!
"Sa...Sakura..."
The voice. Weak. Behind her—no, below.
"REN!!" She lunged toward the sound, nearly tripping on the uneven, jagged terrain. Her eyes locked on him, half-crushed beneath a massive red-stained slab of stone—no, not stone. It pulsed. Like it was fucking alive.
And then it hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest.
"No. No fucking way!" Her voice shook as she stared at the grotesque landscape stretching endlessly around them. The blood-tinted sky. The air reeking of sulfur and rot. The ground breathing under her feet like flesh. "Dammit! We're in the fucking Underworld Realm!"
She dropped to her knees beside Ren, panting, pulling at the rock with everything she had. Her fingers bled from the edges, and it wasn't budging.
"Damn it, Ren! Breathe! HANG IN THERE!"
And then—
A shadow fell over her.
A presence. Cold. Familiar in the worst way possible.
She froze. Her stomach dropped.
Turning slowly, her voice cracked into a snarl.
"You scum. You did this?"
Behind her, Kentaro stood grinning like a lunatic, his eyes gleaming with unhinged delight.
"My poor, foolish niece," he mocked, voice soaked in venom. "Looks like my dear brother never taught you the first damn thing about keeping your guard up, huh?"
Sakura's rage flared like an explosion in her chest. This traitorous son of a bitch. After I tried to just simply move on… What the fuck is he planning?! Why bring us here?!
"Ren, cover your head." She snapped through gritted teeth, never taking her eyes off Kentaro. "This is going to hurt—but V-sensei's Power Force should absorb most of it."
"Huh? Wait, what—?"
"Just fucking do it, dumbass! We don't have time!"
Ren obeyed instantly, shielding his head as Sakura slammed her palm into the rock's surface.
"Kudake chiru!"
A violent pulse of crimson energy erupted from her, cracking the stone with a thunderous blast. The rock exploded into chunks, smoke and glowing dust shooting into the thick, toxic air.
She didn't even flinch. But inside, her stomach twisted.
Shit. That noise is gonna attract them.
Spectres. Demons. Leeches of the damned. This place—this hellhole—was alive, and now it knew they were here.
Still, she forced herself to calm. Priorities. "Can you move?" She asked Ren, extending a hand.
"I-I think so," he mumbled, dazed. "What happened? Where are we?"
Sakura hesitated. Her throat tightened. Even she could barely believe it, let alone say it.
Finally, she muttered, dead serious.
"We're in hell. Prepare to fucking die."
**
The vivid memory of my uncle always starts with that one goddamn party.
I was four.
It was someone's birthday at the Ikari Estate—could've been one of my cousins, but the details blur. What I remember clearly was the flashing lights, the music pounding through the halls, and the thick scent of incense mixed with perfume and roasted meat. A perfect illusion of wealth and family pride.
And then he arrived.
Kentaro.
My uncle. My father's younger brother. The estranged one with the smile that didn't reach his eyes. I remember that even as a toddler—I remember how the air around him grew heavier when he walked into the banquet hall. He wasn't invited. He wasn't wanted.
But no one had the balls to throw him out.
That night, while the adults drank and the children were lulled to sleep with lullabies and sugar-high exhaustion, I had already been tucked into my lavish little bed in the western wing. I should've been safe.
I wasn't.
Because at midnight, he came for me.
The memory fractures—jagged, like broken glass—but there's always the smell of him. Smoke. Iron. Rotten teeth. I woke to cold fingers around my wrist and a whisper too soft to scream at. I was yanked from bed, mouth covered, and the last thing I saw before the sack was thrown over my head was the moonlight glinting off his gold tooth.
He locked me in the trunk of a car.
For four days, I was left there. No food. No water. Threw up from dehydration. Screamed until my throat bled. I remember scratching the inside of that trunk until my nails peeled off. I remember the heat. The cold. The darkness pressing into me like it wanted to suffocate the life out.
I was only four.
And just when I thought I'd die there—when my throat was too dry to scream anymore—he opened the trunk. And dragged me out by my hair.
I still hear the gravel under my knees. Still feel the jagged stones cutting into my palms as I tried to crawl. Still taste blood in my mouth from when he kicked me in the ribs for not standing fast enough.
He tossed me into a cell. Dark. Damp. Reeking of mold and rot and piss. The walls were iron. I could barely see, but I could hear rats skittering near my feet.
He beat me. Every day.
Sometimes with fists. Sometimes with the butt of his gun. Sometimes with words so cruel they echoed for years after the bruises healed. I'd curl up, sobbing, and he'd crouch next to me, sneering. Telling me how my father had chosen me—a brat—over him. That I was the mistake that ruined everything.
"You should've been strangled in the crib," he told me once, smearing blood from my busted lip across my cheek. "But you were born into fortune, into a throne meant for ME."
His eyes burned with such hatred I used to wonder if they'd melt through me. Later, I'd learn the truth: he and my father had been close. Unbreakable, until I was born. My father turned all his attention to me. And Kentaro? He snapped.
He confessed during a beating that he'd planned my abduction the day I was born. That every time he visited, he wasn't seeing a niece—he was seeing a target.
I blacked out most of that time. Trauma shredded my memory to protect me. And when I was eventually found—barely breathing, bones cracked—I couldn't even remember who took me.
And that motherfucker used that to his advantage.
He spun a web of lies so perfect it fooled the entire clan. Claimed he'd "found" me. "Rescued" me. Became the hero. While I stared into his smug face, something inside me began to rot. I didn't say a word. Not to my father. Not to the Elders. Not even to myself.
Because some part of me believed it was my fault.
That I'd been too weak. That I deserved it. That maybe, just maybe, he was right.
I spent years screaming in my sleep. Waking up in cold sweat. Refusing to sleep in the dark. Refusing to sleep alone. I flinched at sudden touches. I snapped at kindness. I built walls taller than any fortress, forged a blade from sarcasm and cruelty just to keep anyone from seeing what a fucking wreck I really was.
I grew up broken. Bitter. Angry.
I buried the little girl in that trunk so deep, I nearly forgot she existed.
Until the memories came flooding back.
One mission. One cursed relic. A surge of spiritual energy—and suddenly I was there again. In the trunk. Gasping. Screaming. Smelling the rot.
And I remembered.
All of it.
Every punch. Every scream. Every hissed word. His face.
Kentaro.
The bastard who ruined me.
By then, he'd already become a convict. Branded a traitor for rebelling against the Elders. Exiled away.
Poetic, huh?
But even then—I said nothing. Not to the court. Not to my father. But I did talk to Yamada and Ryosuke… although only a small portion of the story. Because somewhere deep down, the wounds still festered. I hated myself more than I ever hated him.
I wasn't the victim. I was the loser.
A loser who let it happen.
A loser who never fought back.
A loser who hid behind cold eyes and bitter words because she was too damn scared to face the truth.
A loser who—
"NO."
My voice now, trembling. But stronger.
"I am Ikari Sakura."
And the next words came out like a curse spat from the pit of my soul:
"And I will end you here and now, KENTARO."
**
"How many of them?" Ren asked, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes scanned the horizon teeming with ghostly figures.
Sakura's lip curled as she tightened her grip on her weapon. "I dunno. I flunked math in middle school, so I can't fucking count, can I?"
Ren blinked. "Y-You don't have to be so rude, Sakura..."
She clicked her tongue, her gaze locked on the growing mass of Spectres. "Fine. Thousands. Tens of thousands. A sea of cursed bastards with no chill and bad breath. Think you can handle that, noob?"
Ren swallowed hard. "Define 'handle.'"
The ground trembled slightly as the Spectres drew closer—shadows upon shadows, pale faces twitching with unnatural hunger. Their shrieks were faint at first, but they grew louder, overlapping like static in a nightmare. As Sakura predicted, they had sniffed out human presence. Like moths to a flame. Or in this case, like bloodsucking nightmares to emotionally damaged ninja.
From atop the crumbling balcony of the ruined shrine from afar, a familiar and detestable voice echoed like a mocking breeze.
"My dearest niece…" Kentaro's voice was smooth, too smooth—like poison wrapped in silk. He stepped forward, grinning like the devil in a fine coat. "It would be wiser for you to just surrender. Lay down your little toy blades and I'll make your death quick... ish. Though, I do insist you stay conscious long enough to watch your comrade be devoured first. Front row seats. Popcorn not included. Hahaha!"
Sakura's stomach turned, but her spine stayed straight.
Even now, that smug bastard knew how to twist a knife with words. Her fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms. The fear bubbled in her chest—but beneath it, there was fire. And old memories. Of car trunks. Of cold fists. Of a childhood lost in screams.
She forced a breath through her nose.
"I'll have to face that piece of shit," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than Ren. "This ends with him. One way or another."
Then, louder, to Ren, she said, "I'll make sure he dies by my hand. But... I doubt both of us are making it out of this mess. I'm sorry."
Ren glanced sideways at her, then chuckled with a shrug. "Hey. People die."
She blinked. "Wow. Inspirational."
He smirked. "You're welcome."
Sakura rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. "You odd ball."
There was a pause—a strange, beautiful pause between despair and resolve.
"Well then…" Ren nodded. "Go kick his ass, Sakura. It was cool to know you, even if you're kind of a bratty princess."
And then—
*BOOM!*
A deafening explosion cracked through the air like thunder. The ground shook, scattering dirt and glowing embers. Sakura and Ren instinctively shielded their eyes from the blast's brightness.
As the smoke cleared, two figures emerged from the haze, framed by firelight and Spectre ash.
Tall. Battle-worn. Radiating kill-a-thousand-demons energy.
"RYOSUKE! YAMADA!"
Sakura and Ren cried out in unison, eyes wide with disbelief and a flash of something dangerously close to hope.
"You guys sure know how to make an entrance," Ren muttered.
Yamada cracked his neck and unsheathed his blade. "Did we miss the party?"
Ryosuke smirked, blood streaked across his cheek. "Only the boring part."
And just like that, the odds—even impossibly—felt less crushing.
Sakura's heart steadied. Maybe she wasn't alone. Not anymore.
But that didn't change one fact.
She would be the one to end Kentaro.
With her own goddamn hands.